A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. “Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. Sheer calculation on his. ‘Well?’ she said. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. She had no idea what she should do. “Please stop by. He looked at her, his eyes filled with excited terror and astonishment at her move. She broke a cobblestone over his head and he was out.
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